


Quiet Conversation

by EssayOfThoughts



Series: MCU Maximoff Oneshots [42]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Character Meta, Civil War (Marvel), Civil War speculation, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-20 20:40:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6023965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EssayOfThoughts/pseuds/EssayOfThoughts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In between battles the quiet is sometimes stifling. Wanda wishes it wasn't wishes for the peace she had had in her brother, but he is dead and gone for all it kills her to know it, and she must find peace elsewhere.</p><p>She is not so saddened as she might be to find that peace in an enemy and simple conversation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quiet Conversation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wandasmaximoffs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wandasmaximoffs/gifts).



> I watched a fanvideo. Specifically [This Fanvideo](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gEtPkCiWsiw). It gave me feels and also ideas - there will probably be another fic out soon also inspired by that video - and thus this is here before you. I hope you enjoy it.
> 
> A note: I have Wanda speaking German because Sokovia was apparently between Austria (which speaks Austrian German) and Serbia. Given World Wars and shifting boundaries, and the fact the twins speak English, I imagine they were multilingual, and probably had a decent grasp of German in addition to Sokovian, English and a number of other languages.

“I do not like violence,” Wanda says conversationally. Beside her, standing on the rooftop, Vision nods, slowly, though she can see the startlement in the orange databanks and maroon-green neurons of his mind. Beneath them, far beneath, the city stirs on, people making their way through their days and lives, interacting fleetingly with one another. To Wanda all their minds seem like a nest of ants, passing one another so briefly to interact on and on and on, in an unending cycle until their inevitable deaths.

It’s hard to avoid thinking of death, now Pietro is gone.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Vision says, slowly. “Perhaps, if that is the case, you will lay down your arms, and cease your part in this fight?”

His tone is tentative, gentle, not pushing, barely even asking, but she shakes her head all the same. “And trust the European Union, the United Nations, _America_  and _Stark_  to save the world? After what happened so many times before? I cannot.”

Vision’s voice is quiet, and from anyone else might have been a threat. “Your brother died before.”

“Yes,” Wanda says, and it is a whisper. “It is why I cannot stop. I have lost too much to Stark’s hands. Our parents, our home, our safety, and then my own _brother_.” She glances over to the android, stood so lightly at the edge of the roof, his cloak moving to its own tune rather than that of the buffeting winds. “He says he has changed but has he? Truly? He said he would halt making weapons, and yet made one for himself. He said he would try to save the world, and almost created its very destruction. And now he says again that he will protect it, defend it, abide by its laws? How many times has he done so before, and kept his promises?” She looks back to the street far below, the people walking, ignorant of the pair of them on the roof, unaware of the deep tectonic shifts in politics people like they brought about, and how far a reach those quakes could have. “I cannot lose anyone else as I did my brother,” Wanda says, and it is a soft admission, made as she watches the lenses and gears of Vision’s eyes focussing and refocussing on her face. “I think that it might kill me to.”

There is silence for a while between them, just the noise of the city, the chugging cars and vans and lorries and trucks, the sound of ringtones and doorbells and the alerting noises of shop doors, the police sirens in the distance. Occasionally there is a yelling voice, above the soft constancy of people’s footsteps, occasionally a dog barks, a cat meows, a bird cries out. 

It sounds like _life_  and Wanda knows that, for all they are on different sides in this, Vision will not hurt her here with so many others that might be hurt in doing so. (She knows, too, that she will not fight Vision here for much the same reason. She could not bear to see another life winking out before her.)

“You may have to,” Vision says. “We both may have to, in this civil war of superheroes.”

“Yes,” Wanda acknowledges. “And they will want us to hurt one another first and foremost. With the Mind Stone you can spot my touch in other’s minds, and that is an advantage we would rather you did not have.”

“And you,” Vision says, soft and gentle and not at all as dangerous a phrase as it could be, “Can tear through the very vibranium which makes me.”

“Yes,” Wanda says. “I think that, with effort, I could halt the blasts from your stone if I tried.”

“And I imagine,” Vision says, still conversational, still calm, still without hint of a threat, “that I could go through your scarlet myself if it came to it.”

Wanda sighs, and tries to blink back the tears she knows are beading. “We are well matched,” she whispers. “It is a shame we are on opposite sides.”

“Yes,” Vision says, and gently reaches out as though to shake her hand. “But that does not mean we cannot talk when the battle is not waging.”

“It always is though,” Wanda says, turning to him, eyes darker than her hair, now sunlight has lightened its strands. “Can you not hear it, feel it? There is always some battle waging, always people fighting, always a disagreement. It will never _end.”_ She looks down to the streets, to the people so oblivious of the danger they two posed. “I wish it would,” she whispers, “But our own natures will not allow it. Ultron knew that. Natasha knows that. Pietro knew it, it is why he fought so hard to protect me.” 

She looks to Vision, takes his hand, lightly, soft curls of scarlet spreading but not harming, not ripping, not tearing, simply tasting their way over Vision’s maroon flesh. “I would have peace,” she says. “But I do not think there will be such a thing for those with our gifts. We will always be hounded by other’s expectations and wants.”

“Maybe that is true,” Vision says. “But I shall not hound you, and I shall not fight you if you do not fight me.” He clasps his other hand lightly around Wanda’s, lets her scarlet weave its way through his skin momentarily before dissipating.

Wanda watches him, and there is still a touch of wariness in her mind as she watches the peaceful turn of Vision’s databanks and interwoven neurons. He is honest as he ever is, as innocent and well-meaning as ever, with no malice to anything he has done or will do, for all he can see the necessity of fighting come a battle. He will, she can see, keep his promise, even if she does not make a matching one.

“ _Dankeschone_ ,” Wanda murmurs. “I will keep the same.”

She is grateful, deep down to the very core of herself, that she might be able to find some peace through this war, even with her brother gone, even with an enemy. Without her brother’s mind as anchor she does not know how well she will last, and fears falling all to easily without his presence.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments, Kudos and Crit are always appreciated!


End file.
